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I found out yesterday that I must undergo oral surgery on Friday. This is never good news, of course, but it's especially unwelcome for me. I've spent thousands in recent years (literally -- more twelve thousand dollars) in an unsuccessful effort to "save" two teeth that lasted just a few months.
Admittedly, it was my own negligence and fear of the dentist that led to that pair of molars being in such a dire state of repair, but still, it was beyond painful to wager that much dough on a pair of losing horses. I couldn't help but feel resentful at having spent so much with nothing to show for it but a mound of debt. Had I been given the straight scoop up front, I'd have had the two teeth extracted and spent the dough on replacing them with implants.
And it's not as though I didn't already have plenty of debt. My dental expenses just made a mountain out of a really big molehill.
But finally, after having worked two and even three jobs in recent years, I could see the light at the end of the debt tunnel and not fear it was an onrushing train. I had finally gotten my debt down to about $2500, and I had prospects this fall for earning enough to pay it off entirely.
But a writing workshop I was to teach got canceled, and now this oral surgery is staring me in the face. So it's beginning to look as though I won't be totally debt-free until sometime next year.
Plenty of people have it worse than I do, of course, so I really shouldn't complain. But I did sort of have my heart set on writing that last check to pay off the debt before December rolled around.
Then, there's the dread that sets in as one ponders the prospects of oral surgery -- the pain, the bleeding, the swelling, the inability to ingest anything that requires chewing. And did I mention the pain?
There is a bright side, however: I'm currently happily involved with a lovely woman who has promised to see me through the weekend. The prospect of her fussing over me while I recuperate leavens significantly the dread I'm feeling about the surgery and its aftermath.
I've spent so much of my life fully independent and unattached that I'd almost forgotten how fine a thing it can be to have a partner, someone to stand by your side as you face the more unpleasant events life throws your way. Some years ago, I had a scheduled appointment with an opthamologist, and I was warned in advance that my vision would be quite blurry for up to an hour after the consultation. But after a few phone calls trying to track down someone to accompany me, I gave up and decided to plow ahead on my own.
I left the doctor's office unable to make out my hand before my face. I wasn't in pain, but I felt so helpless, so at sea.
I find I never feel so single as when I am left to fend for myself while under the weather or incapacitated in some way.
Don't get me wrong -- I'm still absolutely dreading the surgery and the two or three days of recovery. But I'm quite pleased and grateful that my sweet gal will be there with me to smooth the road to recovery just a bit.
Posted by brett at 04:06 PM | TrackBack